


Cucumber

by Lightspeed



Series: Monstrous Intent [2]
Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Attempted Soul Removal, Kappa, M/M, Monsters, Other, Rimming, Storytelling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-21
Updated: 2013-08-21
Packaged: 2017-12-25 09:29:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/951480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lightspeed/pseuds/Lightspeed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A trip to Bangkok finds Sniper sitting around a hookah with his friends, a strange group of men with similarly strange predilections.  Called upon to tell of his most recent conquest, Sniper is only happy to relate that time by a lake in the Japanese countryside, when a cheeky Kappa tried to steal his soul.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cucumber

“So that's why Jarvis couldn't show this time. I tell you, he's lucky he survived!”

“Jarvis' own fault for pursuing a bloody centaur! He should've known better! Or at least tried to top.”

“Or gone for a sheila,” Sniper chimed in with a laugh, taking a swig of his drink. His companions erupted in chuckles, leaning back against plush pillows, seated in a boozy, smoky stupor in the dark, warm, Bangkok smoking lounge they had gathered in.

Smoke curled into the air from nostrils and mouths, mouthpieces of a large, ornate red hookah held in calloused, limp hands. The air smelled faintly of a cocktail of rose shisha, hashish, and opium covering the low, simmering musk of slightly sweaty men in the humid air. Pretty kathoey roamed amongst the tables and pillows carrying small trays with drinks and plates of finger food, giggling and conversing as they weaved through the shadowy den. In a lazy circle around a low table in the corner sat a small group of men with sun-baked skin, talking and laughing amongst each other, chatter in English rising loudly above the other languages being tossed around the establishment. Men of their sort were no unusual sight in the lounge, a hotspot for scoundrels and ne'er-do-wells to unwind in the city of earthly delights. They were men of travel, men of violence, men of obscure tastes.

Leaning in the corner itself, Sniper tipped his hat forward with the mouthpiece in his hand, one arm spread out over the pillows behind him. He smirked, looking out over his fellows' faces through yellow lenses.

“So, Mundy, you've not said much since we got here,” one man announced. His blond mutton chops danced a bit with the motion of his speech, long enough to flutter through the heavy air.

“Just enjoyin' the conversation, Charleston. Shisha's fine, company's fine, an' I'm quite comfortable,” Sniper replied, settling deeper into the pillows, which threatened to envelop his slim, gangly body.

“You're a liar and you know it,” a younger man cried, grinning wildly. Red hair pulled back into a tight ponytail sat beneath his ascot cap, sideburns painting a small tinge of masculinity on the man's boyish face. “You've always got the best stories, Mundy, don't try and deny it! You're just waiting for the right opportunity.”

“Ruddy's right, you know,” came a conspiratorial observation from the fellow closest, an older man with a greying beard.

Sniper looked over to his older friend and sighed, caught. He liked to wait for last, maybe to be the center of attention, maybe to see how much he had to embellish so that no story showed his up, but it was his ever-predictable habit. He lifted the mouthpiece in his hand, bringing it to his lips. Inhaling deeply, he watched bubbles rise in the hookah, popping loudly in the glass. The scent and taste of roses filled his senses, his world bathed in a soft pink flavour that lulled him gently. Pulling the thing away, he held his breath a moment before slowly exhaling through his nose, letting the smoke slither from his nostrils, rising to join the congregation of haze that occupied the upper half of the room, blanketing everything. With great effort, he sat up, leaning his elbows on his thighs. “Right, you blokes want a story, then?”

“Yeah! You had to have gotten up to something since last time! You've always got some sort of conquest,” Ruddy interrupted, shaking the assassin's air of mystery he was working to cultivate. A look from the bearded man cowed him into silence, and he sat forward to listen with interest.

“That I do,” Sniper assured, taking another hit from the hookah, a shorter one, to punctuate. “Right, so here's a good one, then. It was a few weeks ago, at the start of this furlough. I was in Japan.”

 

*

 

Sniper sniffed, peering out over the still lake, squinting as the noon-day sun reflected off of the surface of the still water. Leaning against a small tree, his eyes flicked to the fishing pole that lay in a makeshift brace, line leading into the lake. It hadn't moved for an hour. Not the slightest hint of interest, let alone an actual bite. Chewing on his lip, he returned to his whittling. Held in one hand was a balisong he'd filched from work. In his other, he held a cucumber, half-peeled away in slow, thin, curling strips. When he caught the fish he'd been hoping for, it would be part of the quick lunch he was planning to make.

Well, it was supposed to be a quick lunch. Until he learned that even Japanese fish were trained ninja, for all of the hiding they were so adept at doing.

With a sigh, the bushman stowed the implements and crept over to his pole on his hands and knees. Taking hold of the thing, he started reeling it in. Maybe his bait was sub-par, or somehow came loose.

When the impact hit, it knocked the air from Sniper's lungs, throwing his equipment and knocking his sunglasses off. Tackling him to the grass, a heavy weight slammed into him from behind, reaching forward to tug a wrist behind his back before he even caught his air. With a yelp, he found himself ground into the dirt, clutching his hat with his free hand. Turning to look over his shoulder, a blur of mottled green met him. Focusing, he caught eyes with the creature. Beady black orbs blinked wetly at him, set above a pale beak; he glared at the bushman hungrily. Atop his head, his skull was dented in, filled with water. The hands that held him down were webbed.

A kappa.

“Bloody 'ell,” Sniper groused, struggling to try and get free. He scrambled to try and remember his folklore. He knew there was a way to placate the creatures, but for the life of him--

His belt snapped, slashed open by the kappa's claws, and he felt his trousers and underwear being shimmied down his hips. This was interesting.

Looking back over his shoulder, Sniper watched as the creature held his arm in place with agile feet, tugging at his pants with both hands, exposing his bottom. Hungrily, the kappa snaked a long tongue out to lick at the tips of his beak, then grabbed hold of the bushman's ass. The Australian fell limp, his head turning and dipping to the ground as the creature parted his cheeks and dipped down, snaking a tongue out to lick between them to tease at his anus. A low groan rolled out of his throat and out onto the grass, his body going pliable and limp. Fighting was now the furthest thing from Sniper's mind, and he tried to arch to allow the kappa better access.

Sensing his strange compliance, the kappa climbed off of Sniper's back and knelt behind him, tugging his pants further down, propping him up further on his knees. He dove back in, lapping at the tight pucker, tracing circles around the outside before pressing inward. Wriggling against his entrance, the kappa's tongue quickly breached it, prodding slowly inside, slick with thick saliva.

Sniper's thighs quaked, high groans pushing out of him in between panting gasps. Writhing inside of him, that tongue snaked deeper, sliding in and out as it dragged that thick saliva into him, easing friction as it drove inward. The kappa kneaded at his cheeks, squeezing with delight as he tasted him, probing his hole and feeling around, as if in search of something. Slipping a hand beneath himself, the bushman wrapped a hand around his cock, eagerly stroking as that hot, wet tongue stretched and caressed him, grunting out his pleasure.

Squeezing his cheeks, the kappa growled, unable to find what he was looking for. His tongue snaked out, lapping at Sniper's entrance again, spreading his spit around to ease his re-entry, and drove back in, curling his tongue to caress the bushman's insides. It was all he could handle. Sniper groaned, his cheek pressed to the ground, his hand flying over his cock as he pumped out his orgasm, spattering the grass. His body shook, tense and quivering as the heat and pressure rocked through him, but when the bliss and the lights died down, he found himself writhing on the ground, still under the kappa's assault.

The kappa gripped tightly as Sniper shuddered, fearing he would try to escape once he'd had his fun. But he wouldn't relent, not until he found what he was looking for. Overstimulated, shivering, Sniper scrambled around, looking for any way to disengage from that delicious tongue. His hand landed on the pack he'd set aside and he dragged it over, reaching inside to root around. A small pot, a jar of pepper, his half-peeled cucumber, his knife.

The cucumber.

It clicked in Sniper's mind, fogged as it was in the sea of hormones in which it floundered. The way to placate a kappa was with its favourite food.

Sniper reeled around, waving the vegetable in one hand like a bone in front of a dog. The kappa's eyes locked onto the thing, and he lifted his head, tongue hanging out of his mouth. Shivering at it slid out of him, Sniper grunted, "You want this, yeh?" With all of the strength he could muster, he hucked the vegetable into the lake. It broke the still surface with a loud _plunk_ , and in a flurry of motion, the creature clambered over Sniper, bounding for the water. With a splash and a dive, was gone from sight.

 

*

 

"I grabbed me kit, hiked up me trousers, and took off." Sniper leaned back, smirking.

"What, he just licked yer arse?" Charleston asked, taking a sip of his scotch.

"Well, I did some diggin'. Turns out, 'e was tryin' to suck out me soul." Sniper took another hit from the hookah, puffing the smoke out through his teeth.

"Sounds about right, your soul bein' located in your ass," came Ruddy's laughing commentary. "Sums you up quite well, Mundy."

Sniper tipped off his hat, reached over, and swatted the younger man with it, chuckling. "Smart arse. Now you 'ave to follow that, you know. Could'a let me wait for last."

Ruddy's expression fell when he realized, gulping. "Ah, shit. How the hell am I gonna follow homicidal analingus?"

"Not my problem. That's why you don't rush things, mate. Sometimes you have to sit back and let things happen. Good things come to you that way." Sniper laughed, kicking back and tipping his hat forward, raising the hookah's mouthpiece to his lips.


End file.
